


The Seven Pointed Star

by TheSwordInTheDarkness310



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwordInTheDarkness310/pseuds/TheSwordInTheDarkness310
Summary: After the sack of the capital by the Targaryens & triumph over the Others in the North, another dire threat lingers over Westeros. What will happen when the East sweeps across Westeros, and two major faiths collide head on; when one is armed with magic while the other has nothing but belief. How deep would the latter have to dig into its roots, to find the defense it needs?





	The Seven Pointed Star

**Hello people. Thanks for clicking on this story! I hope you enjoy this.**

**Nothing belongs to me except the plot elements and possible OCs of this story.**

**It is a post canon story, after the War with the Others.**

**Anyway, let's get on with it! Enjoy!**

* * *

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_May the Seven Protect Us_ **

* * *

"My fellow believers," announced the High Septon, "these are dark times indeed."

An army of armored knights was gathered in front of the High Septon as he spoke from the high platform in the Starry Sept, still standing tall and proud after over a thousand years of its existence. About three centuries had passed since the last time it had served as the headquarters for the biggest religion of Westeros.

Said to have its roots in the barren hills of Andalos, the Faith of the Seven had found its way to the Seven Kingdoms through the invading Andals; who had come to Westeros about 4000 years ago on longships carrying swords of iron. Like any proper melting pot civilization, the Andals eventually mingled with the First men, and formed six new kingdoms south of the Neck. Their religion, the Faith of the Seven, which was said to have been brought to the earth by the Seven human incarnations of the gods, became the chief faith of Westeros, surpassing the former Old gods in all the lands south of the Neck.

Then the Targaryens came, silver haired Kings and Queens riding on their dragons; but eventually they also made peace with the Faith after their conquest and became the worshippers of the Seven themselves. It was their ruler, King Baelor the blessed, who constructed the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing; a city which was now doomed to fall to the Red priests any day.

The knights listened intently to the High Septon, shifting their body weight from one leg to another as they stood laden in heavy plate armor in the chill of spring morning.

"But in the Seven Pointed Star it has been clearly said," continued the great man, "that the true test of a believer's faith comes during the darkest of times. Winter has just left us, and in this time of peril when we are short of everything; food, men and happiness the Gods give us another test. You," he gestured towards the knights, "are the defenders of our Faith, our strength in this battle against our new enemies."

"What about the Northerners," asked someone from the crowd, throwing the priest off guard for a moment. On hearing the question, the knight standing beside the High Septon cursed loudly, followed by a similar reaction by the men beside him.

"The Northerners have not responded to any of our calls for help," said the priest, "they still blame the whole South for what happened to Lord Eddard in King's Landing; also for the massacre done by the Freys in the Red Wedding."

 _Not entirely right,_  thought Ser Jamie. The Northerners had destroyed the Freys under the leadership of Brynden Tully and the boy Rickon Stark after the defeat of the Others. They had also helped in dethroning Cersei and Tommen from the Iron Throne, who'd later be executed by the Targaryens. The Northmen were now being ruled by a queen instead of a king until the Stark boy comes of age, and had secluded themselves from the rest of the kingdoms.

Sansa Stark might have sent help for the South had she not signed a peace pact with the R'hollor followers. When the Others had invaded the North; it was the Northmen and the fire worshippers who had took a stand against them while the South was toiling with starvation, and was itself raising a host to defend itself in case the North falls to those ice demons they were talking about.

"We didn't go for battle in the North, when the Others were killing and destroying everyone," continued the priest. "That was selfish of us I know, but we had our own problems. Peasants were dying everywhere, and foul leaders were busy tearing down the realm. We did raise our armies eventually, intent on sending them North as soon as the full strength was assembled."

 _Another lie_. Ser Jamie knew exactly what had happened back then. The news coming from the North was terrible to hear. The Others had breached the Wall and had run over almost the entire area. The Southern soldiers didn't know a thing about the North, and the Others raising havoc there added to their fear and reluctance. The High Septon had then chosen to station the troops at the Twins; intent on destroying any Other who comes down with burning pitch and obsidian.

Later, they got the news that the Others were defeated in what was being called the Battle for the Dawn, in which the Northerners had fought the Others alongside the worshippers of the Red god, who had come pouring into the North from Essos. The Targaryen queen Danaerys also took her dragons and her army to the Wall; intent on defending her beloved kingdom. She perished in the battle; and only one of her dragons survived the war; which was now in the control of the fire worshippers. Stannis Baratheon also died while fighting the Others alongside the Northmen and Fire priests, so did his family.

The High Septon cleared his throat, thinking on what he was about to speak when he was interrupted. "They took down the Vale of Arryn," continued the High Septon, "they captured the Crownlands and are now moving towards our beloved capital and the Sept of Baelor. Sooner or later they will take Storm's End too, Riverrun as well no matter what the Northmen say. They killed our brothers by giving them to fire. Now they want the West my brothers and sisters. They want the Reach and Dorne! They want to end our faith and beliefs for good, so that they can preach about their fire demon."

The High Septon descended from his high platform, leaving Ser Jamie and the others behind. "who stands against them now, to protect our history and our religion?"

There was a minute silence, which was followed by a collective sound of the screaming of metal against leather, as 5000 knights unsheathed their swords in a single motion.

"WE WILL," came a collective shout from them.

"Very well," shouted the High Septon. "Then spread this message to all those who still look to the father for judgement; to the Mother for mercy;to the Warrior for courage and the Smith for skill; to the Crone for wisdom and the Maiden for the preservation of virtue. I call all of them to raise arms; for defending what they held most dear." The High Septon cleared his throat. "Their faith and their integrity. To arms fellow countrymen! For this is our final stand. Our crusade against sinners; our surge for a better tomorrow." He looked at the assembled knights with eyes of worship. "MAY THE SEVEN PROTECT US!"

Loud cheering followed the declaration as knights embraced their new found duty. From now they were charged not only protect and defend the weak, but also to protect the very gods which were the witness to their oaths.

* * *

**-XXSPSXX-**

* * *

Bronn awoke with a start.

The once Lord of Stokeworth had passed out again on the wooden cross, weariness and fatigue getting the better of him for the umpteenth time. The pain was still there, searing pain making his whole body scream; spasms of it going through him every time he bobbed with the footsteps of those carrying him.

Panic surged through him, and Bronn Stokeworth once again uselessly struggled against the ropes keeping him tied spread armed to the cross. It had been two days since he had been bound to this cross.  _Why haven't they killed me yet_ , he thought and cursed, spitting out spittle flecked with phlegm and clotted blood, his stretched chafed hands and legs feebly twitching against the binds. The sound drew the attention of those walking near him, though the red priests took no note of the former Lord of Castle Stokeworth as their procession continued their march down some road he couldn't recognize.

Again, the anointed knight wondered of just letting it go. What was the point now anyway? He organised the defences the best he could, but still these red pricks outdid him. He had nothing now. They had already killed Tyrion, Karla and Lollys. His castle had been burned same way as his wife and children, and his treasury had been ransacked. And here was Bronn now, his mouth short of two front teeth; his lordly clothes drenched in blood, sweat, piss and shit; and his body bound to a fucking cross to be displayed to everyone. 'This is what will happen to those who defy,' the fat priest had proclaimed as he was being bound to the wooden cross near the ruin of his castle. 'Glory be to the creator of heavens, and to our King and Queen.' Bronn still didn't know who these King and Queen were.  _I could've offered them my sword and service, just like old times._

 _Where are we going,_  he thought. Despite himself he craned his fatigued neck to look ahead. He couldn't see much, as what seemed like a huge litter was being carried by the marchers, one very similar to his own except for the by makeshift canvas walls surrounding it (except maybe from the front side which Bronn couldn't see); blocking his view to the front. Since it was closed from every side, he couldn't see what was in it. _Someone else on a cross?_

Bronn groaned as he tried to move his throbbing neck to have a better look from the vantage point provided to him. He recognized the road, they were somewhere between Rosby and King's Landing, and were moving towards the Capital. That made sense to Bronn's tormented mind. These red bastards had landed in the port of Duskendale, and from there had moved to Maidenpool, Rook's Rest and of course Castle Stokeworth. The Capital would obviously be the next destination.

A thought seemed to occur to Bronn, but he pushed it aside, hanging his head low in despair. What was the point? He was a fighter once; he survived the War, the sack, survived the Dragons, survived the Winter and the Dothraki. He got over them all, but every time things seemed to get worse and worse. And now this.

And the pain, it was becoming overwhelming, unbearable; and the stench...

All of a sudden Bronn snapped. _Kill me now_. "DO IT YOU BASTARDS! BRING OUT YOUR FUCKING TORCHES! KILL ME NOW! END IT! BURN ME!"

This time he got the attention of the hooded shits. The whole procession stopped at once. One of them, a woman walking beside him, raised her hood. Even though his pain and suffering Bronn made out her beautiful, almost divine features. She was beautiful, but she wasn't someone to be fucked. She was to be worshiped, to be seated in a temple and offered gifts and sacrifices.

"Now now false lord," she spoke.

 _Her voice, oh that sweet voice_. Bronn forgot everything else. All the pain seemed to have left him at once, and suddenly he forgot that he was being marched while bound to a cross. His head felt light, lighter than air, spinning out of control, making him feel things, so many things; and all of a sudden he was weeping with joy. He tasted his mother's milk in his mouth, heard her voice when she sang to him before bedtime; he thought of the first time he had had a pot roast, tasted it on his tongue; felt the rush when he had first killed; the thrill when Sasha had made him a man; the joy when he had held Karla in his arms for the first time. He seemed to have entered a different realm, where there were no murderous Red priests and painful wooden crosses. Happy memories hit him and tickled him, wave after wave, as if he had been plunged face first into an ocean of pure bliss.

And suddenly the feeling started to dull. His eyes flew wide open as pain reappeared in its full force, ripping though Bronn's body like a thousand hungry crows. "Please," Bronn pleaded with the woman, tears streaming from his eyes as the pain persisted and ripened. "Please! PLEASE!"

"What do you want my _false_  lord," the woman spoke in her voice again, and once again Bronn was hit by the same orgasmic feeling. "Yes! Yes! YES!" He screamed, tears still falling, tears which now were of joy. "Yes! Please! Yes!"

And the feeling stopped, much earlier than the last time. Tears of joy turned into tears of pain. Bronn howled like a dying wolf as spasms of pure agony pierced him once again.

"You petty lord things," the woman spoke again. No feeling came to him this time. But Bronn didn't lose hope. He waited for it with wide eyes and gaping mouth, leaning his body towards the angelic priestess, as far as his ropes would allow it. "Please! Oh gods, please!"

The priestess stiffened, and then cackled. "You petty, petty, _petty,disgusting_  lordlings," she spat, now sounding more like a witch than a goddess. "Always wanting more. Your greed sucking the earth dry of everything. Haven't we given you enough?!" Her accusing voiced snapped like a bullwhip, echoing though the air.

"Please," Bronn wept, "you have given me nothing. You took everything from me! Please!"

"Tell me false lord," the priestess spoke, her voice now doing nothing to Bronn. "When did you eat last time? When did you have a drink?"

"Whaa..," then Bronn understood what she was implying. It had been two days since he had been bound to this cross. "Whaa..,"

"The Lord is keeping you alive," the priestess said, her red eyes blazing at him. "He is feeding you and giving you water, saving you from body corruption. The same Lord who made us all, who makes the sun rise everyday, and the stars twinkle at night. The same magnificent Lord whom you hate, whom you insult by worshiping your  _Seven_. The Lord who is all powerful, all knowing. Don't you feel his presence, his power, and your _insignificance_?"

Bronn didn't care. He never had. The last time he had enterred a sept was when his mother was still alive. She used to make him go to the sept with her, and say prayers to the Seven. Her death put an end to all his religious endeavors. "Please.." was all he could say.

"It will be over soon false lord," the witch said, no feeling of pity in her voice. "The day will come, and you won't be."

She donned her hood again, and disappeared in the sea of priests, who resumed their march. Bronn kept weeping and whimpering as pain ate at him, and soon passed out again.

* * *

**-XXSPSXX-**

* * *

Sweet Cersei was a delight

Their fleet, seven ships in total, was sailing swiftly in the Narrow Sea. The dromond  _Sweet Cersei_  was at the front, its main sailor being the anointed King of Westeros.

"How many days," asked the restless King Aegon Targaryen.

The ship had already exited the Blackwater Bay, making its way to Storm's End. Once it was clear that the Crownlands were lost to them and will soon be overrun by Fire worshipers, Aegon had left King's Landing by ship. He wanted to fight them, just like his father had fought the usurper, but Aegon didn't have the men. The Crownlands had lost most of its fighting men in the war and the winter, and those remaining weren't enough to fight the invaders from the East.

_Just like they couldn't fight me and Dany when we landed._

By now the capital must have fallen. Their destination was Storm's End where Harry Strickland was waiting for him with the remainder of the Golden Company.

"3 days atmost my King," replied Trystan Rivers while smiling. "That's what the captain say."

Aegon gave a curt nod, now careful that his annoyance doesn't show in front of an obviously loyal man _._ Trystan fidgeted for a while, and then spoke.

"I don't feel good about the Tyrell siblings your grace."

"So do I," said Aegon, moving a strand of his windblown silver hair from his face. "I'd go back to save them, but then we'd be doomed."

"Just so," said Rivers, using a Pentoshi phrase despite being from Westeros. "I'd take my leave now your grace."

 _He is a good man_ , Aegon mused and smiled as he watched the retreating back of Trystan Rivers. _I'll see him rewarded one day._

 _As I will do my duty,_  thought Aegon as he walked to the stern and leaned on the parapet, wind blowing away his long silver hair. The fire worshippers had taken the Vale months ago, and Aegon couldn't do anything. He had no army, and a King is useless without an army.

Aegon had heard of knights gathering in the Reach, probably Hightower or Highgarden. After reaching Storm's End he will march his men to the Reach and will unite the both armies. Then only he'd be truly a king. With Stannis Baratheon dead there was no other contender.

_I will rid the realm off these priests, same way I got rid of the Lannister queen._

He also needed a bride. Daenerys was gone forever, and Aegon was now free to follow his heart. Arianne was waiting for him, and now he also can truly have her.  _She will be the Queen, my Queen._

"My king," Aegon turned to find his restless maester behind him. "We can't find Sir Duckfield!"

"What!"

"Yes my king," the maester said while fidgeting, "no one has seen him aboard any ship of our fleet."

* * *

**-XXSPSXX-**

* * *

Bronn woke up, and this time found himself in the streets of King's Landing. He felt different now. The pain was not there, it had gone away. His clothes were clean and were devoid of any stench. One thing hadn't changed. He was still bound to the cross, though his wrists and ankles were healed of all the chafing.

Now as they were moving though the city streets, it seemed like a proper procession. The horrified commoners looking at the marchers and the man bound to a cross as an exhibition, and more importantly at that the litter ahead of him which was probably open in the front, as it was a attracting most of the attention from the city dwellers. By the look on their faces the sight in there wasn't pretty.  _What is that?_

Now free from all the pain, Bronn curiously looked around, ignoring the people who cried for mercy on his behalf, shouted in horror or simply stood there dumbfounded. They weren't going to the Red Keep that much he had deduced. Soon it became all clear to Bronn as Visenya's hill came into view. He was being taken to the Great Sept of Baleor, to be executed there like Eddard Stark once had been.

'The day will come, and you won't be.' That's what that priestess had told him.  _My day has come_ , thought Ser Bronn of the Blackwater,  _it's finally here_. The thought made him giddy with happiness.

The Great Sept of Baelor came into view, still all beautiful and shiny. The red priests in front of him stopped, as did the litter. He however kept moving as he was carried to the courtyard. His body ached every time his carriers took a footstep, but it didn't matter. Soon he will be dead, and it will all end.

That was when he saw them, three more figures in front of them bound to a cross just like him. He didn't take long to recognize two of them.

 _The Queen! Joff….Tommen's Queen!_  Margaery was bound to the middle cross, her pretty face and eyes devoid of any emotion. On the right cross was his brother Ser Loras Tyrell, his face defiant.

They won't look so pretty after this.

The third one he couldn't recognize. The man sure was in good shape though, and he was the only one of the three who looked scared.

As Bronn was moved forward he passed by that litter. Since his head was facing forward and the litter also was only open on the front, he couldn't see who was on display. But Bronn was pretty sure whoever he or she was, the person was important.

The fat brown priest who seemed to be the leader was there beside the crosses. "Devouts and believers," he chanted in his spittly voice. "We will today offer these unbelieving souls to the Lord of Light! And will complete the conquest of this ungodly city which is the capital of the heretics."

Priests chanted as he was carried forward. "We have the false Queen Margaery, and the false fighters Loras Tyrell and Rolly Duckfield. Today we will give them to our Lord!"

Bronn reached the others, and his cross was then turned around so he'd face the crowd. Then he saw the front of the litter, and made out two people sitting on chairs on a raised platform.

_So it is just a sitting place after all._

"We also give you this false lord Bronn Stokeworth, a wicked soul. In the sight of our King and Queen," he pointed towards the litter, "the ones who are always with us, in life and in death!"

Bronn's eyes almost popped out. He ignored the chanting of the priests as he looked hard at the litter. Sure enought there were two persons sitting on the 'thrones', a stocky man and a frail woman. Something seemed off though. The two figures, they weren't moving at all. They were just sitting there like dead people.

_Dead people._

Horror swept through Bronn making him chill to the bone as he looked wildly at the dead bodies seated on the plush chairs, and then he knew why the commoners looked so scared of the litter. Bronn felt heat near his legs. He looked down to see his legs were burning. Then his waist. Then all of him. All of him was burning.

Bronn screamed.

* * *

**That's it for the first chapter! How was it? Please Review!**


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